


Restraint

by hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gunplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28623198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiasobi_writes/pseuds/hollyandvice
Summary: The last three times he's painted Tony's hands, they've been wrapped around a gun.Tony fucks Steve face with a gun. That's it, that's the fic.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	Restraint

**Author's Note:**

> Written for sprout's prompt on the POTS server:
> 
> _Steve couldn't explain why his heart skipped a beat whenever he saw Tony holding a gun. Maybe it was thr thought of the sheer power Tony held at his fingertips, the fact that he could hurt Steve in a heartbeat. Maybe it was the fact that Tony could make Steve do whatever he wanted at gunpoint and Steve could do nothing about it except obey...._
> 
> _Or, after Steve witnesses Tony hold someone at gunpoint on a mission, he can't get the image out of his head._
> 
> Thanks to oluka and my best babe Kait for the betas. Hope you enjoy, friends!

Steve's always found Tony's hands beautiful. They create so many wonders, have birthed sentience from lines of code, could build a universe from ashes, should he so desire. Steve had caught himself admiring Tony's hands long before they started dating, and now that they're together, he spends long hours sketching and painting them in every position. Recently, though, those interests have taken on a different form.

The last three times he's painted Tony's hands, they've been wrapped around a gun.

There's something about the way Tony cradles them in his hold that speaks to his knowledge and power around the weapons.

The first time Steve had drawn Tony with a gun it was three days after the _incident_. The gun in question had been an SI-issue semi-automatic handgun. Tony had held it like a lover's hand, delicate and personal. His palm had splayed huge over the grip panel while his pointer finger rested easily along the barrel. His middle finger had traced the trigger guard every time Steve got complacent, leaving his ears buzzing with anticipation.

But Tony had simply waited until Steve was done and then taken him to bed just like normal. Steve would have been lying if he said he wasn't disappointed.

The second time around, it had been a shotgun. Tony had laid it across his lap, his thighs spread in the sort of superior pose that only a man who has known power all his life can achieve. Steve knows it isn't exactly like that with Tony — the man's suffered too — but there's something about the way his eyes drill into Steve's that makes him feel low and impertinent for daring to lay his eyes upon someone so powerful. Steve had squirmed through most of that session, feeling the heat of Tony's gaze down to his bones. 

But Tony hadn't tried anything then, either. He'd let Steve take his time and then put the shotgun away before taking him to bed.

The third time had been a rifle, this one mounted on a bipod. Steve sat with the gun between him and Tony and tried to ignore the heat in his belly. His hands shook as he drew Tony, long and lean and gorgeous, capable of doing whatever he wanted with the weapon in his hand if he so desired.

And still, Tony didn't do what Steve had wanted.

And then.

_And then._

And then it's a custom revolver that Tony must have designed just for himself. It's a .38 Special, Steve can tell that just from looking, but everything else, from the golden sheen of the barrel and cylinder to the rich red of the grip. Steve can't shake the hope in his gut that tonight might be the night, but he doesn't let himself hope too hard. Tony's been playing him like a fiddle since _that_ happened, and Steve won't let the man get the better of him now. So he does his part, sketching quickly as Tony expertly disassembles, cleans, and reassembles the weapon. His hands move like a blur over the parts, and Steve can't deny how much this is turning him on. But he keeps his breathing even and steady, keeps his hands moving over the page, and doesn't let his eyes linger too long on anything, lest his lust get the better of him before Tony's ready.

Because the power to make this happen is all in Tony's hands.

It happens when Steve's least expecting it. It happens in the space of a breath between when he sets down one of his harder charcoals and reaches for a softer one from his case at his feet. It happens with the definitive sound of Tony snapping the cylinder into place. It's not the kind of sound that Steve's heard in this space before, and he hears his own breath hitch at the decisive click. Everything in his muscles is screaming at him to fight, to disarm, to engage the enemy, but he knows there's no danger here. There's only Tony, and everything that Tony is.

"Kneel."

Steve doesn't have to look to know that Tony's got the gun leveled at his forehead. Years of combat have taught him what that feels like well enough. So, no, he doesn't have to look to know that Tony's got the gun centimeters away from his skin, a threat and a promise at the same time. 

He looks anyway.

Tony presses the barrel of the gun to Steve's forehead. "Did I say you could look, Captain?" There's ice in Tony's tone, and Steve has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from whimpering. "I believe I told you to kneel."

Steve swallows. "Yessir."

Tony pistol whips him, the barrel leaving what Steve can tell would end up as a sizable bruise on anyone else. On him, it'll be gone in hours.

He wishes they wouldn't fade so fast.

"Did I say you could talk, Captain?"

Steve shakes his head.

"Good, you can be taught. Now, for the last time." Tony pushes the gun to his forehead hard enough that Steve has to tilt his head back and meet his eyes. "Kneel."

Steve moves clumsily, his body overcome with desperate arousal. He drops to his knees heavily, but the gun never wavers from its place at his forehead. Tony must be able to see what this is doing to Steve, and is compensating for it. God, the man is _brilliant_.

"Much better," Tony says once Steve is on his knees. Tony kicks the easel aside, sending Steve's sketchpad sprawling across the floor. Steve starts to lean toward it, but Tony presses the gun against his head a little harder. "Ah, ah, ah," he says, "I don't think that's what you want to do." Steve wets his lips, his cock now fully invested in the proceedings. "Now," Tony says, crouching down in front of Steve. There's a question in his eyes, and Steve knows what it is. A chance to back out before this gets too intense. But that's what safewords are for, and Steve's the one that wanted this. He doesn't want to back out, not yet.

Steve shakes his head.

Tony gives him the barest hint of a nod before slipping back into character. "What do I want to do, now that I've got the great _Captain America_ at my mercy?"

Steve doesn't say anything. That's part of the game; doing exactly what Tony wants. That's part of being _Tony's_.

"Nothing to say to that?" Steve wonders for an instant if he was supposed to respond, but the instant he parts his lips to do so, the fingers of Tony's free hand slip into his mouth. "No. You don't get to say anything, do you?"

Steve stares up at him, the cold metal of the gun at his temple anchoring in a way he'd forgotten it could be. He lets Tony probe at his mouth, opening it wide, and he leaves his mouth open when Tony removes his fingers.

"Very good. You are a fast learner."

Warmth curls in Steve's stomach, and he feels his brain start to go quiet with trust. Tony's not going to hurt him. No matter how much it might seem like he could right now, he won't. Tony rests the muzzle of the gun on Steve's lower lip. Steve's breath hitches, and Tony's eyes go bright. He traces the muzzle lovingly over Steve's lower lip, as though testing how far he can take this.

"You like that, don't you? Like feeling my gun on your face. Like knowing you're completely at my mercy."

Steve blinks at Tony, his eyes starting to water.

"Answer me."

Steve hesitates a moment longer, then nods slowly. Tony smiles.

"Good." He traces the muzzle around Steve's lips, careful and testing. Steve can smell the gun oil, thick in his nostrils. He stays perfectly still, not sure what Tony wants from him, but not wanting to disappoint him either. "Look at you. So pretty, So ready to do whatever I ask of you. Because you know what'll happen if you don't, isn't that right?"

Steve almost doesn't move, but the look in Tony's eyes holds just enough of a challenge that he can't help himself. He nods.

Tony pistol-whips him again before shoving the gun between Steve's lips, parted as they are on a gasp of pain. "Did I say you could answer me? No," he says before Steve can even think to respond. "I did not. Now, suck it." Steve blinks up at him, eyes still watering with the lingering pain. Tony's pupils are dilated, his lips parted as though with disbelief, and he's got the gun held level with his crotch. Steve shudders, understanding the implication, but Tony just shoves the gun deeper into his mouth. "I said suck it."

Steve does. He closes his eyes, all of his senses focused on the gun in his mouth. The sight is scraping across the vulnerable skin on the roof of his mouth, and he can taste the gun oil now, rather than just smell it. He moans helplessly, and Tony shoves the gun even deeper down his throat.

"Fuck." Tony's voice is reverent, and Steve moans again in response. "You need it so much, don't you. Such a little slut for me."

Steve nods, the sight pushing harder against the soft palate, which makes him moan even louder.

Tony hushes him. "You don't think this is for you, do you? No, Captain, this is all about me. Look at me."

Steve does. Red suit tailored to fit like a glove, gold tie loose around his neck, and the top button of his shirt undone. His hair is still perfectly styled, and Steve knows how much self-control that takes for Tony; the man can't stop playing with his hair. But he's kept himself looking perfect for this. For them. For _him_.

Steve spreads his jaw wider, and Tony's face softens into a smile.

"Good boy."

He pushes the gun further down Steve's throat, and it's a fight to keep his eyes open at this point. He does, though, so he can watch the shift and play of desire over Tony's face.

"Look at how you suck it," Tony croons. "So damn needy. You love it, don't you? Love being used like this. Like the fucking toy you are."

Steve whimpers, and Tony's grin widens. "Come on, now," Tony says. "You can do better than that."

So Steve does. He hollows his cheeks out as he sucks the gun. He traces the tip of his tongue around the muzzle, dips the point of it inside. He reaches a hand up, tracing it along the barrel as it slides out of his mouth, fingering it the way he might Tony's cock. He moans like there's nothing else in the world he'd rather be doing, and, truth be told, he can't seem to think of anything at this moment regardless. He looks up at Tony, startled by the hungry want in his eyes.

Before he can say or do anything, Tony pulls the gun back. "Take my cock out."

Steve scrambles to comply. He unzips Tony's slacks, but before he can go any further, the gun slips from his mouth as Tony smacks him for a third time.

"Slowly."

Steve does as he's told, fingers trembling with anticipation. He hadn't thought they would get this far today, hadn't known if Tony would ever be down for this, but the exhilaration is enough to make him clumsy as he pulls Tony out through the slit in his boxers. Once he has it out, he leans in to suck it. Before he can get too far, though, the gun is pressed to his forehead. He stills, heart thudding in his chest.

"Did I say you could suck it? No," Tony says, answering his own question. "I did not. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were _enjoying_ the danger in all of this, Captain."

Steve looks up at him, uncertainty suddenly curling in his stomach. Tony must have unloaded the gun before he started this. There's no way Tony would put him in danger like that. But there's something about the look on Tony's face that sends a shiver down Steve's spine.

The truth is, he doesn't know for sure.

Steve gives a tiny head shake, and Tony taps the gun's muzzle meaningfully against his cheek. It's an unspoken threat, but a threat nonetheless. Steve swallows the whine that wants to slip from his throat and keeps his eyes trained on Tony.

"Now, I daresay you weren't done pleasuring me." Tony puts one hand on his cock, stroking it lightly. Steve's eyes jump to it on instinct alone, but he doesn't let himself lean into the implication. He knows Tony well enough to know a diversion when he sees one. He drags his eyes away from Tony's cock back up to his face.

Tony's smirking back at him. "Good choice." He slides the gun into Steve's mouth again. "Worship it. Show me how bad you want my cock. Show me how good you'll suck me down, soldier. Or," he whispers, "I'll fuck your ass with my gun too. Fuck you so hard that you come with nothing but my gun inside of you. You want that?"

Steve's breath hitches. It's hot — he'd be lying if he said it wasn’t, but it feels like a bridge too far for this moment. So, rather than risk it, he sinks wholeheartedly into sucking the gun.

"There you go." Tony's voice is warm and soft. "There's the needy little bitch that I knew you were. Taking it like a pro." Tony groans, and from the tenor, Steve knows he's jerking himself off. He forces his eyes open, anchoring them to the spot where Tony's free hand is working his cock. It takes all of his concentration to stay focused on both the gun and Tony's other hand, and he thinks he pulled it off until Tony shoves the gun deeper down his throat, making him gag.

"I gave you an order, soldier. You're not done with that gun. Get done and then maybe, _maybe_ I'll let you have my cock."

Steve moans, his hands fisting on his thighs. The thought of Tony inside of him — mouth or ass; he doesn't much care right now — is enough to have him realizing how hard his cock is. He doesn't reach for it, though, too desperate to have Tony inside of him to give in too early. He can be patient when the situation calls for it, and this situation certainly does.

Tony pulls the gun from between his lips fast enough that the sight catches on his upper lip, tearing the skin there. "Fuck, Steve, I can't—" Then Tony's shoving his cock past Steve's lips, fucking hard and fast down his throat. "Come on, baby. Suck me like you did my pretty pistol. God, so pretty taking my colors down your throat like that. Taking my tech down your throat. Watching you take it all like the good little bitch that you are. _Fuck_ , Steve, babe, I gotta— gotta—"

Tony grabs Steve by the back of the head, fucking his throat harsh and fast and perfect. Steve moans around him, and the second he hears the sound, Tony presses the muzzle of the gun against his Adam's apple.

Steve melts.

"Fuck, yeah, you love that, don't you? Love knowing I've got your life in my hands. Love knowing I could take you out in a heartbeat and there's not a damn thing you could do to stop me. Mm, love that. Fuck you're so good."

Steve digs his nails into his palms. There's something about this, about being _used_ by Tony that settles him into his skin like nothing else. He opens his throat, lets Tony fuck down deep inside of him and, with a pointed swallow and drag of his tongue, feels Tony come hard down his throat with a curse.

Tony holds Steve down on his cock as he comes, and Steve likes the feeling. It's different with Tony's gun at his throat than it is without. He has no choice, here, now, but to do what Tony makes him do, and that's all he's ever wanted.

Eventually Tony pulls out. He tips Steve's head up to look at him and traces the rising bruises and abrasions on his cheeks. "We should treat those."

Steve blinks. Are they done? Is it over? But he didn't—

Tony smirks. "Oh, baby boy. You didn't think I was going to let you come that easy, did you?" He leans in to whisper the rest of the filthy promise right into Steve's ear. "I told you, you're going to come with my gun in your ass, or not at all."

Steve shudders. It's a hell of a promise, but he knows Tony well enough to know he'll make good on it. "Tonight?" he dares to ask.

Tony smiles. "If you're good."

Fuck. Well if that isn't an incentive, Steve doesn't know what is.


End file.
